“There is no chance this is going to work!”
It had only been a few seconds since I sat down at the classic singles-table in my town’s café, when I overheard a heated conversation between a couple. There was noise all around me: Howling bean grinders, the sound of espresso, and the occasional baby that suddenly started crying just because it could. The café was covered in an imaginary fog created by hot cups of coffee and the figurative steam coming out of the couple’s ears. Since there was no other entertainment available, people’s conversations around me inevitably became my personal library of podcasts. The two voices I chose to listen to belonged to a young man and a woman, who had both been blessed and cursed with unfairly attractive genes. Their heads were crowned with hair so silky, it could belong to a young child, perfectly framing their angelic faces. Their cheekbones were as high as their status in the hierarchy of people so intimidatingly beautiful, they should only be allowed to exist fictitiously. I wondered if they knew. It wouldn’t have surprised me if their argument was about whether their baby would be its most attractive if it looked more like its mum than dad or vice versa. Only moments later, it turned out my theory couldn’t have been further from the truth.
The man’s hair was jumping up and down on his head each time he leaned over the table to get his point across. It was as lively as the motions of his arms and hands that accompanied his speech. He was clearly distressed and started gesticulating in fast motions, as if his improvised sign language would automatically support his arguments, or even create any valid evidence to back him up. The couple sat only a couple of tables across from me, so I made sure to reduce my attention to a couple of micro-stares. I didn’t want them to get suspicious. I had to remain invisible. I was merely a fly on the wall, an observer, yes, a spy almost. Every time I did grant myself a cheeky look, however, she hadn’t moved at all and was carefully listening to him. The only part of her that would move were her eyes. Occasionally she rolled them up so high, it looked as if her brain was going to suck them in, never to be seen again. Her arms were crossed by that point, but she still remained calm, almost as if she was holding back an explosion for when it was her turn.
The man had now lowered his voice, probably as a result of realising how much attention he had brought to himself. He straightened his shirt with the palm of his hands, and slicked his hair back in one motion. There was a brief silence between them. The few other listeners that had joined resumed to minding their own business again. But not me. I was committed. To whatever it was that I was committed to, I wasn’t sure, but something kept me in my seat. Perhaps it was a mixture of excitement and fear, depending on what the conversation would reveal later. Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t get out of it now. It was too late. The man was collected and calm now, finishing off his presentation with the following words: “Honestly, I recommend you get a shovel and just bury that…” A coffee grinder went off. It was impossible for me to catch the rest of the sentence, but part of me felt that I didn’t need to. I stared at the table in front of me with my eyes wide open. “It’s really not that hard.” The woman responded. “It might get dirty, but you can always clean up the remaining mess.” I couldn’t resist looking up. She couldn’t see that I was looking at them in utter shock, but I could see that her eyes calmy rested on him as she explained. He was silent and stared at her in disbelief. I took a sip of my coffee in order to distract myself from the shiver that went down my spine after I overheard her last sentence. What mess was she talking about? What was it that was so easy to her but so obviously horrifying to him? When he mentioned the shovel, I had the feeling that they weren’t just having a passionate conversation about gardening. I kept listening in search for more cues.
“You’re crazy, absolutely crazy. You would never get away with something like that.” He continued. “Who’s going to believe you?!” The man was so distressed at this point, that his perfectly clear, pale skin started to turn red. I wasn’t sure whether anger or fear painted his face. Perhaps it was both. His partner remained still and continued to defend her standpoint, not looking away for a single moment to make sure she had his undivided attention. “Listen, no one needs to know about anything. And if you care about the mess, then we can just get gloves. It’s that easy.” She shrugged slightly at the end, emphasising how achievable her plan truly was. However, her partner thought otherwise. “Easy? EASY?!” I looked down and examined the rim of my cup. I had marked it with my blood coloured lipstick. There was a dark layer of what I assumed were the remainings of my coffee, painting a picture of - “No one has EVER done that before! What makes you think you can pull it off?” The woman closed her eyes and chuckled before she moved on. “Oh dear, do you know how many documentaries exist that showcase these kinds of events? These extraordinary talents? Some people are capable of things others aren’t.” My heart was beating so fast at this point, that I was convinced it was going to jump out of my chest. Some people are capable of things others aren’t. What was that supposed to mean? What things did she think she’s capable of? And why did it cause her partner so much distress? “Oh REALLY? Well, all those documentaries must be made and watched exclusively by absolute nutjobs then!” He nearly jumped out of his seat. His voice sounded like the hissing of a snake. Like an animalistic threat. He caught my stare for a split second. Shit shit shit shit. I looked up at the ceiling for as long as my neck would allow. But when I lowered my gaze again, he had already looked away.
“Not all things have to be pretty. The truth does look awful sometimes.” She spoke with the soft voice of a mother trying to comfort her child. “I can’t believe it.” He was shaking his head. “I can’t believe you actually believe that.” His chair had turned into a black hole and was absorbing his body now, dragging him down as far as possible. The man looked beaten. Helpless. He didn’t stop speaking because he was convinced. He was simply lost for words. What was it that she was trying to convince him of? What horrible thing was she trying to get away with it that he couldn’t hold back his response?
Perhaps it was better that I didn’t know, I thought. If I found out the truth, I would’ve automatically made myself a witness. I should’ve never eavesdropped on their conversation. I should’ve never gotten involved. The only right thing to do was to pretend it never happened, and ignore the fact that this would forever be engraved in my brain. Too uncomfortable to stay so close in their presence, I pushed my chair away from me and got up. But then it started again. Like sirens howling from a short distance, his voice got louder. She looked at him as if she hadn’t seen it coming. I shrieked when he got up and I quickly got hold of my things to exit the café. I had to be quick. All I wanted was to get the hell out of there. My book and pens fell down and I thrusted myself on the floor, leaving some bits behind in order to save myself. They both stared at me. I focused on the floor while holding all my belongings in my arms like a mother protecting her baby. Just before I was about to grip the door handle that would lead me out of this nightmare, suddenly they were both standing up and before she had a chance to say anything, he screamed at her one last time:
“You’re crazy! I don’t care what you say!” He laughed hysterically.
“There is NO WAY you can put toothpaste back into the tube with your own hands! That’s impossible!”
And with that, he stormed out.
Photo by Rita Chou on Unsplash